


If It Makes You Happy, Ask Anything

by pietromavximoff



Category: Captain America, Marvel, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:29:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietromavximoff/pseuds/pietromavximoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wants a pet, so Sam suggests a therapy dog to a reluctant Steve, and takes them to a nearby pound. Fluffiness follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Makes You Happy, Ask Anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claimedbydaryl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/gifts).



‘C’mon Steve.’ They were sitting cross-legged on the cool floorboards in the living room, Bucky leaning on Steve’s shoulder and speaking with that purr in his voice that made Steve smile. Bucky leant back further into Steve, sinking down his chest slowly as he said ‘Stevie’, in a soft voice that made Steve’s heart hammer. Bucky’s head landed on Steve’s thigh and he closed his eyes, a piece of hair falling out of his bun. He waited for a few seconds for dramatic build and then said ‘pleeease’ without opening his eyes. Steve shook his head, grinning. Before he could answer, Sam’s voice came from the kitchen.  
‘What’s he want this time?’  
Steve gave a laugh as Bucky opened his eyes, a mock annoyed expression chasing itself across his face at Sam’s interruption of his important request.  
‘A pet.’ Steve called back, and Sam came out of the kitchen to lean against the doorway of the living room, watching them with an amused expression.  
‘You sure you two could handle a pet?’ He started, sipping his coffee. ‘I mean, when you’re not training you’re here, and you don’t exactly allow free time where you could entertain an animal – it’s hard enough finding a time to come over where you two aren’t in your bedroom . . .’  
Bucky tilted his head to look at him, his eyes narrowed in incredulity. ‘You’re the one that made yourself a key!’ Steve grinned at the pair of them, leaning his head back to rest on the soft couch behind him as Bucky went on. ‘Nobody asked you to come over that day just because, as you so nicely put it, “Clint and Nat decided to go interstate without me and the twins keep dodging me because they think I’m gonna ask them to come for a run” right before you barged in to the bedroom, which was shut, by the way, and announced yourself without so much as a knock.’  
‘How was I supposed to know you two were –’ he looked to Steve deliberately – ‘fonduing .’  
Steve lifted his head up to glare at Sam. ‘I’m gonna kill Stark.’  
Sam elected to ignore this. ‘Who fondues at one in the afternoon?’  
‘The point is,’ Steve interrupted, now lacing his fingers through the loose strands of hair separating themselves from Bucky’s bun. ‘We won’t always be here to look after it – ’  
‘We’ll make time.’ Bucky affirmed.  
Sam shook his head at the pair of them, letting out a chuckle before placing his coffee mug on the table and sitting on the armrest of the couch opposite them. Steve glared at the red and blue pattern of his own shields on the mug, thinking about the matching Captain America plates in their cupboard and silently vowing to never let Bucky and Sam go homeware shopping by themselves again.  
‘What would we even get?’ He asked in exasperation, regretting even saying that because Bucky sat up and started listing various pet options and his favourite breeds of each.  
‘How about a therapy dog?’ Sam interjected, and Bucky stopped in the act of counting of his fingers to each animal.

Steve felt his stomach twist slightly at the image that flooded into his mind. Automatically, the had thought of how they could take it to the park a block away, lie in the sun as it chased the birds, and most of all, he thought of how it would help Bucky. Although Bucky didn’t like to admit it, he was still struggling. It had been two years since he came to Steve’s apartment one night, soaked to the bone from the storm outside and trying not to break as he told Steve that he remembered him, that he remembered everything. And Steve had helped him as much as he could, and Bucky told him without words how much he cared – in kisses on cheeks, soft words muttered against skin, in slight, reassuring squeezes during Avengers meetings. The others had helped as well; Tony had offered to take a look at his metal arm and see what adjustments he could make to it (he didn’t tell Bucky, but Steve knew it wasn’t so much about making it better than about making Bucky feel less like The Winter Soldier). Bruce had left a bunch of pamphlets on strategies to combat depression and stress, intrusive thoughts and anxiety under their apartment door one afternoon and Thor had brought Bucky back a pouch full of glittering dust from Asgard, which he swore was meant to have healing properties (although Steve sniffed it once and it had shot straight up his nose and, in between Bucky’s fits of hysterical laughter, he swore that it did nothing but make everything seem hazy for the rest of the day). Pietro and Wanda had asked him to show them around Brooklyn since he seemed to know where everything was without a thought (and they didn’t mind when he stopped every now and then as they walked past a back alley – they didn’t even ask when he walked into one near a cinema and stared at the lid of a trash can in the corner). Clint and Nat had all welcomed him into the team by throwing a party in his honour (and after that proved to be a huge success, Bucky didn’t argue when they made up the most ridiculous excuses to celebrate him – “oh, look, Bucky’s finished running that lap in record time, you know what that means, Romanoff?” “Say no more, Barton”). Sam would drop by every Sunday if only to give Bucky an excuse to cook breakfast, which, even though he said he had it, Steve knew there were still days he skipped eating (Bucky would never tell them, but they all knew that Hydra had starved him for days at a time as part of their torture).

‘What’s a therapy dog?’ Bucky asked, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.  
Sam answered, almost automatically. They were used to Bucky asking a lot of questions, and every time he did, it was just another sign that he was getting better. ‘It’s a dog that’s been trained to provide comfort and affection. You can even train them yourself. They make you feel calmer.’  
‘They – they have those?’  
‘Yeah, Buck.’ Steve answered, smiling slightly as he saw Bucky’s eyes widen. He turned to Sam, his mind made up. ‘You know how to get to the pound?’

Steve realized a little too late that it was a mistake to bring Bucky. As soon as he entered through the door and into the playful atmosphere, he immediately ran to the closest dog, stretching an arm through the cage and letting the small brown animal lick his wrist.  
‘Hey, Buck . . .’ Steve cut himself off as he saw Bucky’s huge smile as he turned from that dog and went to another that was barking for his attention. Sam and Steve exchanged a look, and Sam sighed, shaking his head good-naturedly as he walked up to the desk at the end of the shelter. He engaged the worker, who was previously typing busily on the computer, in a conversation immediately. Steve walked up to Bucky, his hands in his pockets as Bucky moved to the dog next to the fluffy black one he was just talking to.  
‘See one you like?’  
Bucky turned, his eyes wide and serious. ‘How many dogs would you define as too many dogs?’  
Steve laughed, but he couldn’t help agreeing. ‘They’re all pretty adorable.’  
After forty minutes of hands being licked, Sam assuring them that he can help them train the puppy and Bucky talking to each and every one of the dogs in a voice that varied from someone having a serious conversation to someone who wasn’t even bothering to use words anymore and just cooing unintelligibly, Sam, Steve and Bucky walked out of the pound, Bucky clutching a black and white Border Collie close to his chest.

‘He’s only six months old.’ Bucky said fondly when they finally reached their apartment and he had been forced to let the pup jump out of his hands and onto the couch, which he immediately sunk into.  
‘Got any ideas for a name?’ Sam picked up his previously abandoned coffee mug as the dog started to walk across the couch, staring at the red and blue patterns. He wagged his tail, panting slightly, not taking his eyes off it.  
‘Don’t let him see your shield,’ Bucky whispered to Steve, his eyes fixed on the fluffy ball. Steve let out a laugh as Bucky turned to answer Sam.  
‘We need something short and cute.’ He thought aloud. ‘Oh, we need a place to put him too, you know like a place only for him.’ He grinned as the dog bounded to the floor and started to race around Sam’s legs.  
‘Like a den?’ Steve suggested absent-mindedly as he too, began to grin at the pup.  
‘Yeah.’ Bucky looked up, pausing, before letting out a burst of laughter. ‘Den – Ned. Let’s call him Ned!’ He said brightly, and Sam and Steve groaned.  
‘Points for creativity.’ Sam nodded to Bucky, his tone sarcastic, but Bucky wasn’t hearing it.  
‘You like that name, don’t you?’ He leapt for the dog and captured him in his arms, laying down and allowing him to pad lightly across his chest as he barked in agreement. And Steve couldn’t help but lay down next to Bucky, reaching over to scruff up the dog’s fur, his hand brushing Bucky’s. Bucky turned his head, and Steve could feel his grin as he kissed him lightly.

‘I’ll just let myself out, then.’ Sam supplied as he turned to the door and took out his key, muttering loudly enough for them to hear, ‘wait till I tell the others Bucky loses it over a dog that’s the size of a plate,’ and gave a laugh at their feeble attempts to argue with him from underneath the paws of the hyperactive puppy.


End file.
